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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27025948">Strains of Aconite</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shamione/pseuds/Shamione'>Shamione</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Character Death, F/M, Good Draco Malfoy, Love, Miscarriage, No Smut, POV Draco Malfoy, Potions, Pregnancy, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Samhain, UHEA, Unhappy Ending, Werewolf Draco Malfoy, Werewolf Turning, Werewolves</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 16:54:20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,996</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27025948</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shamione/pseuds/Shamione</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Samhain, and the moon is to be full. For the first time, the forest surrounding their tiny cottage is still. As Lord of their land, Draco will help usher the dead across the thin Veil, praising their lives with his howl. He loved the full moon, relished the change, and it was all because of his wife - Hermione Jean Granger Malfoy.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Hermione Granger &amp; Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>46</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>88</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Completed/Downloaded/Read Works, Samhain Flash Comp DA Discord</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Strains of Aconite</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">



        <li>In response to a prompt by
            Anonymous in the <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Samhain_Flash_Comp">Samhain_Flash_Comp</a>
          collection.
        </li>
    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p><strong>Prompt:</strong> Aconite</p><p>PLEASE mind the trigger warnings / tags. If you are uncomfortable with any themes mentioned, do not read after the demarcated line. Inferences can be made.</p><p>Winner: The Black Flame Candle - Most Surprising Ending<br/>Winner: I Put a Spell on You - Best Overall</p><p> </p><p>Thank you to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/KoraKwidditch/pseuds/KoraKwidditch">KoraKwidditch</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaeOrabel/pseuds/FaeOrabel">FaeOrabel</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/WordsmithMusings/pseuds/WordsmithMusings">WordsmithMusings</a> for hosting this flash comp!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p><br/>
<br/>
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</p>
</div><br/><p>Wind howled through the tops of towering Douglas firs, the forest surrounding their humble cottage boasting a more profound reflective peacefulness than Draco Malfoy had ever encountered. It appeared even the fiercest creatures wandering their grounds were noiseless in remembrance as the gradual Samhain darkness fell.</p><p>Draco grimaced, clasping his scarred hand over his lips and casting the small goblet aside.</p><p>No matter how regularly he drank it, the acidic punch of Aconite searing down his esophagus made him want to retch. But after twelve years of the change, his bones had adapted. His mind had adjusted.</p><p>He loved the full moon now.</p><p>And it was all because of Hermione Jean Granger Malfoy.</p><p>He remembered the morning of his first probation hearing well. The missed appointment had fallen mere hours after a full moon's set. Anticipation had surged that a slew of Aurors would appear and haul him to Azkaban. To his demise. But they had merely sent her. </p><p>If he had had a say, he wouldn't have let her enter. He'd have left her mass of frustrated curls standing on the Manor's doorstep while he furiously cleansed his skin of an unknown animal's blood. As he vomited endlessly after picking a piece of unidentifiable fur from his teeth.</p><p>But he hadn't been able to look away from the caramel-colored concern in her gaze as he trudged into the Manor's sitting room. Her hands had trembled, squatted before his sobbing mother, eyes broad and observing him. Her expression was unforgettable as she examined his figure for the first time since their sixth year.</p><p>Terrified. Sad. Intrigued.</p><p>She'd been the lone individual outside of his family that knew. For years, they shared a secret that she never once divulged, even under questioning - that due to his failures during the war, he'd been punished with the bane of Lycanthropy.</p><p>Greyback's mercilessly ecstatic snarl as the punishment hissed from Voldemort's narrowed lips was seared into Draco's subconscious. The absolute gleam in the dirty beast's eyes as Death Eaters hauled him from the dungeons haunted his nightmares. The unmitigated fear that had coursed through his body as they advised him to run and the echoes of enthusiastic howls over his ragged breath kept him from sleep more nights than he could count.</p><p>His thorough knowledge of the Manor's grounds had helped him little. Draco's feet had been swift, but a wholly transitioned Greyback had been sharper. He had attempted to wait out the moon high in the trees in the foulest part of the Manor's forest.</p><p>But they'd found him.</p><p>The pain had been excruciating. Indescribable. Unbearable. Each untamed yet deliberate breach of his skin nothing but pure torture. Greyback's wolf had known precisely where to sink his teeth to make Draco writhe in agony and make his screams penetrate the shadows until he had blacked out from the pain.</p><p>Though it all had paled in comparison to the tears that she'd shed listening to his mother recite his tale.</p><p>Hermione had appeared weekly under the guise of Ministry regulation for the three months following her initial visit. She had chanted affirmations of ensuring Draco was following the laws of his house arrest, the only punishment he'd amassed for the missed hearing - her doing, no doubt.</p><p>However, the more weeks that had fleeted by, the longer her visits had turned. To Draco's surprise, Narcissa had eventually requested Hermione's presence for tea each Tuesday and Thursday afternoon. They had become immovable friends, giggling and prattling on, and, at times, noiselessly sitting lost in thought together.</p><p>He had hated it. Hated Hermione. Or he had tried. But the first time she hadn't shown on a Tuesday, his heart had broken. His wolf had ached - a feeling to which he hadn't been thoroughly accustomed. He had shattered more precious Malfoy artifacts that day than he ever cared to admit.</p><p>She had appeared the subsequent Sunday, hair as unruly as the look in her eyes, with a week's worth of Wolfsbane potion. He had to stalk up the stairs before he wept. She'd brewed it herself, sourcing the ingredients on her meager Ministry salary to keep his secret safe. He had refused it on some erroneous principle, and that full moon had been the severest he'd ever experienced. </p><p>She had visited like clockwork after that, seven vials of Wolfsbane seven days before a full moon. She never missed tea time again and eventually started appearing on Wednesdays to read in the Manor's library, which he joined on occasion.</p><p>His first unprovoked statement to her had been a nearly silent "thank you" late into a Wednesday evening, nestled with books in hand before a fire. It had taken nine months for him to speak without being questioned, and the smile she wore had seeped under his skin.</p><p>She had looked radiant. Had <i>smelled</i> radiant. As if the joy of overhearing his freely offered voice had altered every fiber of her quintessence. He'd felt intoxicated immediately, something concealed deep within him awakening. His wolf had craved her. Demanded her. Yearned to protect her. And he refused to leave her proximity after that.</p><p>His house arrest had ended two years later, against his wishes. That same day, she had Floo'ed into the Manor's sitting room brandishing a bright grin and a certified piece of legislation that had sanctioned the reintegration of Lycanthropes into society. That had made Wolfsbane available to all who desired, at little cost. That had read D&amp;R Decree - Draco and Remus.</p><p>Draco was confident it was in that the moment he had finally admitted to himself that he loved her. That she was his mate even if the wolf disagreed. Why Hermione had chosen him as a pet project, he'd never asked, and she'd never told. But he hadn't cared.</p><p>Because their first date, where he prepared a terrible meal that resulted in her Apparating away and back with Muggle takeaway, had been the best night of his life. Only eclipsed by the moment that she'd whispered she loved him, dancing just the two of them in the Manor's parlor on Christmas Eve.</p><p>They had made love that night, and for the first time since the war, he'd felt at home. Felt like he belonged in the world only if to make her happy. To make her comfortable and loved. To protect her as his above all else.</p><p>He wasn't an Alpha, nor a Beta. He was nothing. But she was everything. Everything he didn't deserve but everything he'd never let go.</p><p>And nothing had compared to the thin marriage ribbons wrapped around their hands. Nothing, that is, until she had sought not to shed joyous tears as she informed him they were to be parents.</p><p>They had both known - a child born of a werewolf and a witch had a measurable probability of inheriting Lycanthropy.</p><p>He had steadfastly refused, regardless of the hurt he had seen in her eyes. She had continually assured that she understood and was grateful that he wished to keep her safe. However, it grew more evident that she yearned for them to be three, if not more.</p><p>Nieces and nephews had frequented their house to soothe her burgeoning need while she researched. She had spent weeks in their cottage's tiny basement brewing, burning herself, and tinkering. Spent countless hours constructing greenhouses, splicing stems, and germinating seeds. Draco had even learned more of Neville Longbottom than he ever thought he would, the Herbology Professor spending many a weekend at their home.</p><p>Together they'd propagated three new strains of Aconite - mixing them with Asphodel for consistency and Dittany for longevity. By the time her research was through, she had concocted three new Wolfsbane potions, earning her more acclaim than she cared for. A human-safe strain intended for use during pregnancy to keep the infant still on nights where the moon filled the sky. A second strain for children, more potent to keep them nearly sedated during the shift. And a third strain to ease the pain for elderly werewolves, which more often than not killed them during the change.</p><p>She was absolutely brilliant, and she'd won their disagreement just as she always had. She was crankier when she was pregnant, feistier, hornier, and Draco's wolf loved it.</p><p>In three short months, they would be parents to a beautiful daughter - Lyra Helen Granger Malfoy.</p><p>Three full moons and Draco would hold his daughter in his arms, begging the old gods and the new that her magical genes only had Hermione's essence. Endlessly hoping that she'd be like her cousin Teddy, born of a Lycanthrope yet unburdened by the change.</p><p>But tonight, he won't fret too awfully. Hermione's potion had proven to work, and seven moons had passed with pristine health.</p><p>So, he'll run, welcoming the wind dancing through his thick fur. He'll hunt, as he so regularly did - precise and measured. He'll find the boulder that Hermione had placed at the center of a clearing and let his howl fill the air, praising the dead. To, as the Lord of his land, ease their suffering as they crossed the thin Veil on this beautiful, full moon, Samhain night.</p><p>And at sunrise, he'll don the black robes she'd bought and head home to shower and meet her in the library. He'll touch an ear to Hermione's stomach and admire the life blossoming inside. He'll kiss her per usual following the full moon: once on the forehead, twice on each cheek, and a single, soft peak to the tip of her nose.</p><p>She'll giggle and assure him of the depths of her love, even if he still doesn't believe it. She'll inform him of their annual Halloween shindig and what antics he'd missed. Then they'll fall into bed for a nap, just as they had every month since their marriage began.</p><p>Draco smiled as a jolt of electricity shot through his bones. It was time.<br/>
</p>
<hr/><p><br/>
Draco strolled through the gardens, a smile forming his features as he gazed over the numerous strains of Aconite lining their window seals. Hermione had vowed to move them before Lyra was born, but it was evident that chore would fall to the top of his list, and he'd happily oblige.</p><p>His black robes billowed as he sauntered through the front door, though, his expression soured at the sitting room's emptiness. Hermione regularly met him at the door with a glass of water and a radiant smile.</p><p>"Granger?"</p><p>No response came. Though, he heard shifting in the library and merely smiled. Hermione had probably fallen asleep before the fire again, a book resting on her stomach.</p><p>Although, before he could advance toward the doors, they flung open with violence, a wholly frazzled Potter tumbling through them. He looked deranged, hands and shirt faintly bloodstained and his irises rimmed with red, driving deep panic into Draco's gut. Bubbling a knot so thick in his throat, it felt like he couldn't breathe.</p><p>"Malfoy… Malfoy, she…"</p><p>He couldn't speak; he didn't wish to. He could feel it now, could smell it. Could practically hear the words deep within his soul that Potter would express before the Boy Wonder ever spoke them. "What… what happened?"</p><p>"She changed…"</p><p>The tears freezing Potter's speech only thrust another dagger deep into Draco's already shattered heart. He didn't need to hear more - he knew. Lyra. Lyra had changed.</p><p>"Her… Hermione?"</p><p>But the crumpled expression of her best mate, the minute shake of his raven-haired head, cracked every thread of Draco's soul apart. Fractured every fiber of his existence. It wasn't possible. He was merely asleep, confined deep within a nightmare he'd prayed would never happen.</p><p>"She… they… weren't breathing when I took them to Mungos."</p><p>They. They. <i>They.</i></p><p>Both had died. In his home. In <i>their</i> home. He'd unknowingly ushered his own wife and daughter across the Veil last night as he ran without a care in the world. As she was being ripped apart from the inside. </p><p>As he wasn't there to protect her.</p>
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